Those moments with him had been amongst the loveliest of her life, but this morning it had disintegrated into nothingness like the last hazy remnants of some wonderful, impossible dream that fled at sunrise.
He’d pulled away from her, his face shuttered, his gaze guarded, and dear God, the awful silence that had fallen between them after he’d jerked away from her had unfolded with such agonizing slowness, as if she were hanging off a sheer cliff’s face, waiting to plunge to her death as she lost her grip, one fingertip at a time.
She didn’t know how it was meant to be between a man and a woman, but a lady didn’t need to be a courtesan to know this morning hadn’t been the way it ought to have been.
What had happened? It had all gone wrong, somehow, only she didn’t know how, or why. She must have done something she oughtn’t to have done. Was a proper wife not meant to initiate lovemaking? Should she not have kissed him? He’d seemed pleased with her attentions at first, but it must not have been the right thing, after all.
Oh, if only she hadn’t woken him! If only she’d remained as she was, with his strong arm curled around the curve of her waist and the steady thump of his heart under her ear. He might still be here then, and she’d have nothing else to wish for, any unanswered questions between them fading into silence with their mingled breath.
But it was too late now. Already, she could hear him stirring on the other side of the connecting door, and while a foolish part of her hoped he’d change his mind and return to take her into his arms once again, the other part of her—the part that knew better—feared he’d never cross the threshold between their two bedchambers again.
Her heart sank all the way down to her bare toes at the thought, but it wasn’t as if Jasper had promised her romance and kisses, and nights clasped in his arms. He’d made it clear from the start this was to be a business arrangement, nothing more.
She’d known what she was getting herself into with this marriage. She’d made her decision with her eyes wide open, and she wouldn’t snivel over it now, no matter if she had hoped—
Well, it was neither here nor there now, was it?
If Jasper intended to leave her to her own devices, then she’d do well to make certain she had her own pursuits to fill her days. She rose from the bed and slipped her night rail over her head, but just as she was about to cross the room and ring the bell for the servant, she paused, her gaze falling on the bed.
Was that . . . but no, surely not. It didn’t make sense.
She hurried across the room to one of the windows and jerked the draperies back, blinking as light poured into her bedchamber, then strode back across the room and tore the coverlet off the bed with a sweep of her arm.
But with one glance, her suspicions were confirmed.
There was no blood. Not a single, precious drop. The sheets were a perfect, pristine white. She dropped down on the edge of the bed, stunned.
She only knew of two reasons why that would be the case. The first was that she’d come to her husband’s bed with something less than the strictest purity, which was most certainly not the case, whereas the second . . .
Dear God, was it possible that her marriage hadn’t been consummated?
It had hurt a bit when he’d entered her, yes, but it was the merest twinge, and not at all the sundering she’d feared after she’d seen the portrait of Jasper without his clothing.
She was no stranger to the laws of physics, after all.
Buthow? How could such a thing have happened? Jasper was meant to be an infamous rake! Surely, he must realize it? But if he was aware of the, er . . . blunder, why hadn’t he said anything to her? Even more to the point, why had he fled her touch this morning? One would think a husband would make it a point to properly deflower his new wife.
Instead, he’d fled her bed as if she had the plague.
It didn’t make any sense. For pity’s sake, a thing like an accidentally virginal wife wasn’t likely to grow less awkward the longer one waited to address it, was it?
Rather the opposite.
She’d have to ask him. Goodness, what an awkward discussionthatwas sure to be! But they were man and wife now, and if it was as she suspected, it was rather a drastic oversight.
She rose from the bed, her instinct to go to him at once, but she froze as she drew near the connecting door. No, she couldn’t do it. She simply couldn’t bring herself to go to him after he’d fled her bedchamber this morning like a criminal fleeing the gibbet.
He’d said he’d come and bid her good-bye before he left for his engagement. It would simply have to wait until then. Perhaps pride was a sin, but she gathered the wounded remnants of hers around her and turned away from the door with a jerk of her chin.
But what was she meant to do with all the lonely hours of the long day that now stretched before her? She’d imagined she’d be occupied with Jasper this morning, but she was at liberty now, and she didn’t intend to squander her first day in London sulking in her bedchamber over her hard-hearted husband.
No, she’d begin how she meant to go on.
She strode toward the pretty little writing desk in the corner of her bedchamber, jerking the draperies open as she went, her spirits lifting a little as sunlight poured through the glass.
There was a neat stack of paper in the top drawer of the little desk, along with a freshly trimmed quill, and in a lower drawer there was a lovely crystal inkwell filled to the brim with black ink.
She sat down, took a fresh sheet from the drawer, and dipped her pen. Yes, this was very good. Already she felt better, just from having the pen in her hand.
